Beneath the Kauri Tree (The Sea of Freedom Trilogy Book 2)

by Sarah Lark

  “Join them,” ordered Kahu Heke. “Let yourself be carried along. Do whatever comes to mind.”

  Silencing the men’s yelling was foremost on Matariki’s mind, but, fortunately, they became quieter when she joined them. Soon Matariki found herself in the circle of warriors around the niu, though they had to be careful to maintain their distance from her. When her father stepped toward her, the circle first parted to allow him in and then extended to avoid the shadows of the ariki and his daughter, which fell long in the twilight and torchlight.

  Matariki was embarrassed. She had never danced alone in front of her tribe. She was too low ranked for a solo dance, and, mostly, the young girls performed group dances—only the very bold might sing a love song with a boy. The Maori warriors who watched her now seemed already to be in a trance and were surely determined to venerate her.

  Bravely, Matariki began a haka powhiri—a greeting dance. She knew it well; she had often danced it with the other girls of the Ngai Tahu. And she liked it because there was nothing threatening about it. It introduced the dancers and the village and was performed after the warriors had carried out their show of strength in front of the new arrivals and the eldest woman had let out the karanga. Thus, it would already be established that there would be no conflict between the tribe and the visitors. Matariki swung her poi-poi balls and sang a song of snow-covered mountains, vast plains, streams rich with fish, and clear lakes. Her song described the region of Otago and the tribe of the Ngai Tahu. However, she wondered how many of the men understood any of it. In the meantime, she had heard many dialects—Kahu Heke had united men from all the tribes of the North Island under the flag of the Hauhau.

  Matariki finished and enjoyed the warriors’ applause. Her father, too, seemed content.

  “Very good for a start, Matariki,” he whispered to her, “and now, let out the karanga.”

  Matariki turned to her father, confused. “But I can’t.”

  “Just do it.” The ariki raised his arms, and the warriors fell silent. “The Daughter of the Stars will now call the spirits,” he announced.

  Matariki hesitated. Surely it was tapu for her to attempt the karanga. The privilege of establishing the spiritual bond between the members of a tribe and its visitors with this cry belonged to the oldest, highest-ranking woman of the tribe.

  Considered that way, the privilege did fall to Matariki. After all, she was the only woman, so she summoned all her courage and screamed.

  When Hainga on the South Island let out the karanga, the earth seemed shaken to its foundations, and the world of the spirits touched that of the people, drawing all listeners into a circle, which described the universe itself. The karanga was something sacred—Matariki’s cry, on the other hand, hardly sounded different from that of her roommate, Mary Jane, at the sight of a mouse in their bedroom.

  Nevertheless, her karanga made an impression on Dingo. The dog had not stood out much until then, but now his howl was infinitely more imposing than Matariki’s cry. His howl turned into the frantic barking with which he usually announced intruders from whom he would then flee. He ran to the girl just before all hell broke loose on the edge of the camp.

  “Hands up, drop your weapons! This is the Armed Constabulary. This is not a joke.”

  As if to prove it, they fired their first shots. Matariki saw the muzzle flashes in the twilight. Dingo cowered between her legs.

  The surprised warriors ran around, confused and momentarily unsure from where the threat came.

  “Rire, rire, hau, hau!” Kahu Heke shouted.

  The warriors took up the call. A few charged the attackers armed merely with war axes and spears; others knew enough to fetch firearms from their huts. Bullets whistled over the village square. Cries of anger and pain mixed in with the wild calls of “Rire, rire, hau, hau.” Matariki, paralyzed with horror and fear, watched as huts went up in flames and men fell. Dingo barked but was otherwise as frozen still as his mistress.

  “Come with me!” Out of nowhere, Kupe grabbed Matariki by the hand.

  “Quick, there are so many of them. They’ll slaughter us here.”

  Matariki wondered if Kupe knew how many attackers there were. He was visibly panicked, and she thought he was using all his courage to look after her. Kahu Heke was nowhere to be seen.

  Kupe pulled her in the direction of the clearing where her father resided. It was dark there, but the din of battle was nearly as loud. They did not stop, and it was only under the kauri tree at the river, where large ferns formed a thick jungle, that Kupe slowed down. Dingo had followed on their heels, and here they all calmed down for a moment.

  “Up the tree,” Kupe ordered, and pointed up a southern beech.

  Kauri trees could not be climbed; their trunks rose without branches high into the sky. The beech, however, offered itself perfectly as a lookout point.

  “But . . . Dingo.”

  “Up!”

  Matariki climbed into the first crotch of branches and was touched when Kupe handed the trembling dog up to her. Matariki commanded Dingo to keep quiet while she hoisted the canine into the next crotch and then climbed after him. From here, she could overlook a portion of the camp. Kupe climbed even higher up the tree for a better vantage point.

  In the clearing, the Hauhau’s lodgings were ablaze. Several wounded or perhaps dead warriors were illuminated by the ghastly glare of the flames around the niu. Matariki didn’t see any casualties among the armed constables, a few of whom crisscrossed the camp, likely looking for hidden warriors. Here and there, a few struggles were still under way, but the constables tried to take the warriors prisoner instead of killing them, and the majority did surrender. Others, however, still bellowed “Rire, rire, hau, hau” and charged the English, unafraid of death.

  Matariki cried out when one of the militia did not know what to do about a powerful warrior other than to shoot him point-blank. She thought she recognized Hanu, one of her abductors. Yet she did not take any satisfaction in his death.

  The English limited themselves to the razing of the main camp—apparently, they were not familiar with the custom of lodging the chieftain outside of it.

  “Just pakeha,” whispered Kupe, “no Maori.”

  “Maori?” asked Matariki, horrified.

  Kupe shrugged. “They have Maori in their ranks, traitorous dogs.”

  Dingo whimpered.

  “He doesn’t mean you,” Matariki said, stroking the dog. Then she turned back to Kupe. “So, this is something like a civil war among the tribes?”

  Kupe nodded. “A few iwi of the Ngati Porou fight for the pakeha. In East Cape and Gisborne, there are many who—”

  “It’s all completely mad,” Matariki interrupted him, but then her outrage caught in her throat, and she fell silent.

  It was all crazy. But it was also deadly.

  Matariki, Kupe, and Dingo remained in the tree until first light. It was safer to wait to see whether the pakeha returned after questioning their prisoners. Under no circumstances did Kupe want to be taken prisoner. The constables might have taken Matariki back home, but they could also rape her or haul her to the nearest reformatory. After Kupe’s stories about the misdeeds against his village, she did not trust the militia.

  Toward morning, there was a surprise.

  “The ariki,” whispered Kupe.

  From his position, he overlooked the clearing with the chieftain’s lodge as well. Matariki roused herself from an exhausted half sleep.

  “What?” she asked.

  “The ariki, your father. He’s below, in front of his lodge. And the surviving warriors are now gathering in the clearing. The ariki lives.” Kupe cheered. “Kahu Heke! Kahu Heke! Pai Marire, hau, hau.”

  Matariki winced. She would have preferred to remain hidden longer, if only to think. She felt no need to see her father. However, the chieftain was looking up at them.

  “Well, help us down, Kupe, if you’re so eager to dance around a pole again.” Matariki sighed and took the dog
under her arm. “It’ll be interesting to hear what the archangel Gabriel has to say about this now.”

  Kupe climbed down the tree first. Matariki slid down to the lowest branch crotch. Then she wanted to hand Dingo to Kupe, but the dog had experienced enough of the airy excursion. He wrested himself from Matariki’s arms and leaped six feet to the ground, letting out a howl when he landed. Matariki was worried, but Dingo only hobbled a bit for a few minutes. Kupe caught hold of Matariki, who was carefully feeling her way down. They both landed in ferns under the tree.

  “Now you’ve touched me.” Matariki helped Kupe up. “And the world didn’t end.”

  Kupe shrugged. “The bullets didn’t rain on us yesterday either,” he replied without looking at her. Matariki, however, forced eye contact.

  “You didn’t really believe that, did you?” she asked.

  Kupe looked to the ground. “If I’d believed it, I wouldn’t have run away, would I? Will you tell your father that I fled?”

  Matariki raised her eyebrows. “Didn’t he run himself?” she asked. “I didn’t see him once the worst of the fighting started. Besides, you were looking after me. Then again, maybe a warrior chieftain becomes invisible when singing rire, rire.”

  Kupe bit his lip. “You don’t take any of this seriously,” he said sadly. “But it’s very serious. Deadly serious.”

  Not even Matariki could deny that, although even among the Hauhau, there had been fewer killed than she and Kupe had feared. Only three men, Hanu among them, had died in the hail of bullets. Four warriors lay wounded on the battlefield. The English must have thought they were dead, because they had taken the rest of the wounded away with the other prisoners. Kahu Heke’s tribe had lost about twenty warriors, dead, wounded, or imprisoned.

  The chieftain was organizing the transport of the wounded to the next Maori village. Proud and almost larger-than-life in his warrior gear and wide cloak, he turned to his thirty remaining warriors.

  He thrust his spear into the sky and raised his ax. Then he cried just one word, “Vengeance!”

  To Matariki’s surprise, that was enough for the men. They answered at once with “Rire, rire, hau, hau,” and surely would have kept chanting if the chieftain had not bid them to stop.

  “Men, the gods of our people have tested but not abandoned us. Look, there is Matariki, your chieftain’s daughter. She has escaped the pakeha. The angel spirited her away and now leads her back to us.”

  The men shouted in excitement as Matariki set foot in the clearing. Once again, the girl lacked for words, but she could not help but admire the chieftain’s finesse. Kahu Heke had just seen her in the tree. He had known that she and Kupe would soon come, and he orchestrated his approach accordingly. Matariki’s appearance at the right moment would convince the men that divine powers were at play.

  “The angel?” whispered Kupe, confused.

  “Yes,” said Matariki, “you’ve been promoted.”

  “The gods have given us a sign: it is not time to wait,” said Kahu Heke. “It is time for vengeance, time to send the pakeha back to their own land. We’ll ready ourselves. The ceremony that will make us warriors—unconquerable warriors—will take place tonight. Yesterday, we wavered. Do not deny it. I saw fear and confusion in your eyes. Tomorrow we’ll march against them like a wall of steel. Pai Marire hau, hau!”

  Kahu Heke stamped his spear on the ground in a manner Matariki recognized from haka. His portrayal of the warrior chieftain was perfect. It was hard to believe that it concealed a bold schemer.

  Matariki rubbed her forehead. She knew it was precisely this genius strategist she needed to address if she wanted to stop anything. Her father could not truly believe that he would be able to defeat the entire Armed Constabulary with his thirty warriors, not to mention the civilian militia and, finally, the British Army. He would inevitably be defeated—and perhaps die in the process.

  “When the first victories have been achieved, thousands will flock to us,” explained Kahu Heke. “Every Maori wants freedom.”

  “And what about the Ngati Porou?” Matariki asked. “And the other Maori who fight on the pakeha’s side? What about the Ngai Tahu, who don’t fight at all but make accommodations?”

  “We cannot allow ourselves to make such accommodations.” The chieftain grew excited. Matariki had asked to speak with him while the warriors buried their dead. Hare led the burial solemnities, although that did not appear to be complicated. Once again, “Rire, rire” echoed deafeningly through the forest. “Matariki, wake up. While we make accommodations, they destroy our homeland. Do you know that the tribes here in Waikato are negotiating the construction of a train line? Through the middle of our territory? And they’re fighting among themselves over who gets what. They—”

  “So, they don’t hate the pakeha all that much,” Matariki concluded. “Not even here where you have a lot of influence. And what do you have against trains? They’re fast and comfortable.”

  “You’re blind,” Kahu Heke said, “but that will not diminish your power. We’ll carry out the ceremony tonight. For the men, you will represent the gates of victory.”

  “Gates?” asked Matariki.

  “Yes.” The chieftain looked at her, misty-eyed. “Traditionally, a man becomes a warrior—an invulnerable, deadly warrior—when he crawls between the feet of the chieftain’s daughter.”

  Matariki could not help herself from blurting out, “Like Dingo?” She laughed. “Whenever there’s thunder, he always runs between my feet. That doesn’t make him invulnerable, though, as you can see.”

  Dingo came over when he heard his name. He was still limping a bit.

  “Matariki, it’s a sacred duty. And you can’t compare elite Maori warriors with a stray mutt.”

  Matariki found this image amusing. “Father, how is this supposed to work?” She laughed. “The men are more than five feet tall and at least a foot wide. They won’t fit between my feet no matter how I stand.”

  Her argument left Kahu Heke silent for a moment. Then he found a solution. “We’ll have to place you on top of rocks,” he said.

  At the risk of annoying Rauru, Matariki brushed the hair from her face. “Father, we think up a crazy ceremony, we dance around with strange gestures, and then the men all run into the English bullets like Hanu last night? You should have seen him.”

  “He was a Hauhau,” Kahu Heke said. “Now, go to your lodging, child. Someone will bring you food, and then you will speak with the spirits and prepare for the ceremony.”

  For the first time, Matariki felt true disdain. “Father, you don’t speak with the spirits inside a hut,” she said calmly. “Even I know that. And I know because I’ve lived among real Maori who don’t make up their tikanga.”

  Kahu Heke waved her words away. “Whatever you do, just stay inside,” he ordered. “Go inward. Search your conscience.”

  Matariki stood up and walked slowly in the direction of her hut. She knew a warrior would be standing guard as soon as she went inside. She had contradicted the ariki, so now she was a prisoner again. Just before Matariki reached her hut, she turned around once more.

  “Maybe the archangel will appear to me,” she mocked, raising her hand in salutation. “Rire, rire, hau, hau. And here I thought angels spoke in complete sentences.”

  Kupe appeared a short time later with flatbread and sweet potatoes. “No one has time to hunt,” he said to excuse the meager meal. “Yet there’s supposed to be a feast tonight. I think you’d better watch out for this one.” He pointed to Dingo.

  Matariki looked at him in horror. “They wouldn’t eat the dog.”

  “Why not?” asked Kupe. “It was common among the Polynesians. Hare explained it to us. The first dogs probably came to Aotearoa as provisions. And these”—he pointed to the leather straps with which his waihaka, a short, hook-shaped club, was fastened to his wrist—“are supposed to be made from dog leather. And—”

  Matariki shoved her flatbread aside. “That’s enough,” she yell
ed, pulling Dingo close. “We’re leaving. You have to help me get away from here. However much you think of these people, you need to escape with me now. If my father and Hare carry out this ceremony, my dog won’t be the only one to die—you’ll all be dead in two days.”

  Matariki wanted to take her riding skirt and blouse—not just because she would freeze in her dancing clothes but also because she planned on reaching a pakeha settlement as soon as possible. She did not trust the idea of seeking sanctuary in a nearby Maori village. Almost all of the warriors there sympathized with the Hauhau. As Kupe had learned in the meantime, this had proved fateful for the group the day before. The pakeha had scouts in the nearest village. When Kahu Heke’s men appeared there to retrieve dancing clothes, the English had followed them.

  “This is more evidence that the spirits don’t care whether I’m here or in Dunedin,” Matariki said to Kupe.

  He had been assigned guard duty in the afternoon and reported what news there was. However, he was not easily convinced to flee with her. At best, he would not betray her if she ran away.

  “Look, I was the one who put the English on your heels,” Matariki said. “If I hadn’t been abducted, there would have been no need for the dress and no visit to the tribe. Then you all would have been able to go on happily screaming hau, hau, and no one would have discovered the camp.”

  “The gods wanted us to set out,” Kupe mused, although only halfheartedly. “That’s what the ariki says.”

  “To challenge the British Empire with a force of thirty men?”

  “Someone has to start.”

  Matariki sighed. “Fine, I give up. But could you find my pakeha clothes somewhere? I’ll try to reach the next town, but I’ll stand out in this skirt.”

  Kupe hesitated. “It’s tapu,” he murmured, “your clothing.”

  Matariki wanted to shake him. “Are you really so afraid to touch my clothes?”

  Kupe had to laugh. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he said. “But the tohunga sacrificed them to the sacred fire yesterday while you danced.”